


Radiance

by fireflyslove



Series: A Chain of Light (Worf/Jadzia DS9) [4]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Biology, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Kid Fic, Post-Canon, babies ever after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23089726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireflyslove/pseuds/fireflyslove
Summary: Trill-Klingon biological incompatibility vexes Jadzia and Worf.Or, three times Worf thought Jadzia was pregnant and one she was.(Rules of Acquisition, a Chain of Light Miniseries, PART THE FIRST AND A HALF)
Relationships: Jadzia Dax/Worf
Series: A Chain of Light (Worf/Jadzia DS9) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1500980
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	Radiance

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank the Academy, [coldwinterrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldwinterrose/profile), and BBC America for fueling my DS9 meltdown. 
> 
> The rest of Sazi's story should follow shortly.

_ one. _

“Oh shit,” Jadzia rolled out of bed. She barely made it to the trash receptacle before she emptied the contents of her stomach. 

It was the middle of the night. As soon as she finished, she sat back, landing heavily on the floor. 

Worf was next to her in an instant, a dagger in his off hand. 

“Do you need me to get the doctor?” he asked. 

Jadzia shook her head. “It’s just a bug,” she said. “It should pass soon.” 

It did not. 

Jadzia spent most of the day on the floor with a bucket, Worf worriedly pressing fluids into her hands, when she could keep them down, which was almost never. 

Hatrel regarded their mother with wide eyes from across the room for most of the day. They were a quiet child, and Jadzia’s illness seemed to frighten them.

Worf had urgent ambassador business that he had to attend to, despite his own protests, at Jadzia’s insistence. He left Jadzia sitting on the floor with a bucket and a promise to drink rehydrating solution when she could. He returned eight hours later to find her three feet to the left. She had managed to get Hatrel into bed, but the child was wearing the same clothes they had been wearing all day. 

“I am calling the doctor,” Worf said, brooking no argument. 

Jadzia sighed resignedly. 

She expected a nurse to show up, but ten minutes later, their doors opened to admit Julian Bashir himself.

“You look in a right state,” he said without preamble.

“I feel in a right state,” Jadzia replied. 

“How long have you been throwing up?” he asked, pulling out his medical tricorder. 

“Since 0330,” Worf answered.

“You should have called me earlier,” Julian admonished.

“I wouldn’t let him,” Jadzia said.

Julian snapped his tricorder shut, and shook his head. “Stubbornness abounds. You have a case of food poisoning. Have you eaten anything questionable in the last 26 hours?”

“I had the seafood mystery surprise at Quark’s for dinner last night,” Jadzia said, reaching for her bucket again.

“As I thought. You are not the only case we’ve had,” Julian said. He withdrew a hypospray from the bag and administered it to Jadzia’s neck. “Anti-nausea. You should start to feel better in a few moments. Take another in two hours,” he set the hypo on the table, “and drink lots of fluids. You’ll be just fine in the morning. And please, next time, do try to remember why we have an infirmary on the station.”

Jadzia nodded sheepishly and thanked him.

After he left, Jadzia hauled herself up off the floor and onto the couch, then looked over to Worf. He hadn’t moved since Julian left, and his arms crossed, and a strange expression on his face. 

“Worf?” 

He remained silent, but came to sit next to her on the couch. She let him process whatever was so obviously pressing on his mind, feeling the nausea ebb. 

“I thought…” Worf said, trailing off. 

She saw a look of deep longing in his eyes, and understood. “You thought I was pregnant,” she said. 

He nodded. 

She laughed, just a bit. “Morning sickness is a human thing, Worf.” 

He bristled, “And how was I to know that?”

“Sorry,” she said. “For what it’s worth, I thought the same thing briefly last week. Got an itch.”

“An itch?” 

“Trill get itchy when they’re pregnant,” Jadzia said. “Goes along with the spots, I guess.”

_ two. _

Worf returned from a month spent on Qo’nos knocking heads together (literally, the leaders of two factions had gotten into a squabble), eager to see his wife and child.

Hatrel he found easily. The child was still extremely shy, but had a habit of attaching themself to the most unlikely person. In this case it was, to Worf’s intense amusement (and slight consternation), Garak. 

The Cardassian “tailor” had recently returned from Cardassia for a few weeks, ostensibly to see how relations with Bajor and the Federation were coming. It was a flimsy cover story, and Garak would probably readily admit to that. His comings and goings, especially with regards to his sleeping arrangements, were politely ignored. If anyone needed him during the night, they knew to look in Dr. Bashir’s quarters. 

When Jadzia’s messages had first mentioned in passing that Hatrel had taken a shine to Garak, Worf had been worried, but he trusted Jadzia’s judgement. Based on her messages, Garak was just as bemused by Hatrel as Worf would expect him to be. 

The Cardassian was sitting at a table on the Promenade, a cup of raktajino and a padd in his hand. Hatrel was sitting next to him, a cup of what Worf hoped wasn’t raktajino and a padd in their hand. They glanced up, and a smile split their face.

“Father!” they shouted, jumping to their feet and running to him. He scooped them up in his arms, a laugh tumbling out of his chest. 

Garak set down his padd and regarded Worf warily. 

“Hello, Hatrel,” Worf said. “How have you been?” 

“I made a new friend!” Hatrel said, looking back over their shoulder to Garak.

“Garak,” Worf said.

“Worf.”

“I’ll just be going.” Garak gathered his things, and stood.

“Don’t go!” Hatrel said. 

Garak glanced at Worf, a stricken expression on his face. 

“If you are a friend of my child, then I trust their judgement,” Worf said. “And their mother’s.”

“Ah,” Garak said, sitting back down. “Will you sit?” 

Worf looked down at Hatrel, then asked them, “Would you like to go see your mother with me?” 

They considered for a moment, then shook their head. “I want to stay with Garak. I saw Mama this morning.” 

He set them down, and they took their chair. He glanced in their cup, it appeared to be nothing more sinister than… was that prune juice? 

“I am unsure how I ended up babysitting,” Garak muttered. 

“Thank you,” Worf said.

Garak waved his hand and nodded. “Go see your wife,” he said. 

Worf didn’t have to be told twice. 

He found Jadzia in Hatrel’s room, folding clothes. They surrounded her, a sea of cloth that littered the floor. His heart jumped into his chest, unbidden.

She looked up when she heard the door to their quarters open, and was on her feet before he could open his mouth to speak. She jumped up into his arms, and he caught her, her arms slung around his neck. 

“I missed you,” he said between breathless kisses.

“And I you,” she said. 

“What’s all this?” he asked, gesturing with his chin to the mess behind them.

“Oh, Hatrel’s had another growth spurt, and I’m just… putting these clothes away in case we ever need them in the future,” Jadzia said. 

Something must have crossed Worf’s face, because she smiled sadly. “Not yet. I’m sorry.”

He nodded. “Well, Hatrel seems to like Garak.”

“I know!” Jadzia said, brightening immediately. “It’s hilarious.”

_ three. _

“Fuck,” Jadzia said, scrubbing at her skin again. She had been in the shower, both sonic and water, for the better part of an hour trying to get the rash from the plant off. She had taken Hatrel to Bajor for the day, and the child had run into a patch of poison ylvet. It apparently had no effect on Romulans, but on Trill skin it raised red welts wherever the leaves had touched her skin. And she had practically rolled in the stuff.

Worf found her there, scrubbing her skin. Hatrel was in bed, and she had returned to the shower.

“Are you well?” he asked. 

“I got into the fucking biggest patch of poison ylvet on Bajor,” Jadzia said. “It won’t stop  _ itching _ .” 

“Have you spoken to Dr. Bashir?” Worf asked. 

“He gave me a cream,” Jadzia said. “It doesn’t do anything.”

“Come out,” Worf said. “Let me see if I can do anything to help.” 

With a sigh, Jadzia shut the shower off and stepped out into their bedroom. She had been taking a sonic shower this time, and Worf pushed her toward the bed. 

“Sit. Where is the cream?”

Jadzia pointed, and Worf retrieved the small tub. He spread it on her skin with gentle fingers, and she soon found herself being lulled into drowsiness.

“Sleep,” he said, and she curled up into her pillow.

The next morning she woke still itchy all over, with red marks on her skin from where she had scratched in the night. 

Worf woke soon after, and with one glance at her skin, and then at her face, he threw the blankets back. 

“We’re going to see the doctor,” he said. She nodded, for once agreeing with that assessment. 

Breakfast was a haphazard affair, and Hatrel’s clothes didn’t quite match. All in all it was slightly over an hour before they walked at not-quite-a-run to the infirmary. Garak was the first person to greet them, lounging in Julian’s chair, and Hatrel ran to him, squealing in delight. 

“What can I do for you this morning?” Julian asked, resignation in his voice from the dozens of times he had asked that question of them before. 

“For once, not fix a sprain,” Jadzia said. “I’m itchy. All over.”

“The cream didn’t work?” Julian asked, turning toward the replicator.

“It did,” Jadzia said, holding up her arm, where the welts were no more than faint pink spots. “This might be something else…”

“Oh!” Julian said. “Well then! Let me get my tricorder and I’ll just…”

The next few minutes were filled with a tense silence. Julian closed the tricorder, and his face told Jadzia the answer before he opened his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

Jadzia sighed. “If wishes were horses.”

They left Hatrel with Garak, with his seeming good will toward the situation, and returned to their quarters at a more leisurely pace. 

“Maybe it’s not going to happen,” Jadzia finally said.

“Hatrel is already a handful…” Worf said.

“They are, but they’re not even four yet,” Jadzia said.

“We could adopt another child.”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Jadzia said. “I don’t think now is the right time, though.”

“I agree,” Worf said. 

“Revisit it in a year?” Jadzia asked. 

“Gladly.”

_ plus one. _

Two days after their early morning visit to the infirmary, Worf left again for Qo’nos. Julian had put Jadzia’s itchiness down as an adverse reaction to the anti inflammatory cream. He invited her and Hatrel to join him and Garak for dinner in his quarters, and she was just getting Hatrel dressed when the door chime sounded.

“Come,” she said, turning to see who entered.

The door slid open to admit a very sheepish looking Julian and a smug looking Garak. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I may have to rescind my invitation. Somehow we seem to have an… infestation.”

“You’re welcome to eat here,” Jadzia said, gesturing to her table. 

“I told you she would say that,” Garak said.

“You know what happens when you assume.”

They came in, and set a pair of trays down on the table. 

“Can I speak with you in private for a moment?” Julian asked Jadzia  _ sotto voce _ . 

“Of course,” Jadzia said. “Let’s just step in here.” She caught Garak’s gaze, and glanced at Hatrel. He nodded, and proceeded to show Hatrel something that looked suspiciously like a way to kill a man.

They went into the bedroom, and Julian pulled a padd out of his pocket. “I don’t often say this, but I was wrong.”

“Oh?”

“Your itchiness was not an adverse reaction to the cream,” he said.

“You’re saying…” Jadzia put her hand on her abdomen.

“Congratulations,” Julian said. 

“You’ll oblige me not to tell anyone?” 

“Doctor-patient confidentiality,” Julian said. “Not even Garak.”

“Or Worf,” Jadzia said. “I want to see the look on his face when I tell him.”

-

Worf returned to the station two weeks later, and Jadzia began her plan from the moment he stepped off the transport. She met him at the airlock with Hatrel, and immediately updated him on every single thing Hatrel had done in the last two weeks. He looked overwhelmed, and most of the information washed right over him. 

At dinner, she put fish on the table and he looked up at her, an eyebrow raised. “You haven’t eaten fish since the Mystery Surprise incident,” he said. 

“Oh, I finally got my appetite back,” she said. “I think I finally gained back all the weight I lost.”

“Good,” Worf said. “You look… healthy.”

“Thank you,” she said, with a quirk of her lips.

They spent the next day trying to exhaust Hatrel by chasing them around the entire habitat ring, and Jadzia tired before the child did. She returned to their quarters and left Worf and Hatrel to run off their abundant energy. She looked into Hatrel’s room and scowled, the place was a mess.

She was still cleaning when Worf returned, Hatrel slung over his shoulder. They were giggling, and Jadzia smiled at them. 

“They’ve grown again,” Worf said.

“I know,” Jadzia said. “I was just sorting their clothes again. I don’t know if we should keep the stuff with holes in it.”

“Recycle it,” Worf said. “It’s not good for anything.”

Jadzia held up a shirt. “I’m keeping this one, though. The next kid will look cute in it in a few years.”

Worf smiled at her, an indulgent smile that Jadzia knew meant he hadn’t comprehended her broad hint.

-

Worf’s sleep cycle was a few hours off from the station’s day/night cycle, and Jadzia woke before him. She had a physical book on her nightstand and a padd on top of it. The padd was a Klingon romance, and the book was something else entirely. 

When she felt him beginning to stir, she exchanged the padd for the book and flipped through it as his eyes fluttered open. She idly reached a hand up to scratch the side of her face, and then her neck. 

“Good morning,” he said. “You’re looking particularly radiant today.”

“Thank you,” she said, and then the book of baby names was tossed to the floor as he rolled over on top of her.

-

Jadzia knew Worf couldn’t take a hint (she had practically beat him over the head with a bat’leth to declare her romantic intentions, after all), but this was getting ridiculous. 

-

“How did Hatrel take Garak leaving the station?” Worf asked, late that night.

“Not well. I think they took it worse than Julian did. Not that I’ve seen much of him lately.”

“No? I thought you were still seeing him weekly, for the … treatments,” Worf said.

“Oh, we don’t need those anymore,” Jadzia said, examining her fingernails.

“I know we said we would talk about adopting another child in a year, but I thought you wanted to carry a child as well,” Worf said.

“I do,” Jadzia said.

“Then why would you stop the treatments?” 

“I didn’t stop them,” Jadzia said. “They’re just no longer necessary.”

A look of sudden comprehension crossed Worf’s face, and he sat up straight, pulling her with him. “Jadzia, are you…?”

“Pregnant? Yes.”

Worf gave a great whoop of joy and pulled her into a tight hug. An upwelling of emotion she hadn’t expected filled Jadzia’s chest, and she found herself suddenly weeping. Worf pulled back. 

“Are you not happy?” he asked, the faintest of tremors in his voice.

“Oh, I’m happy. I’m just pregnant and hormonal. You’d better get used to me crying. Gods, Emony cried three times a day when she was pregnant.”

“Then I will become accustomed to it,” Worf said. 

“I’m glad,” Jadzia said.

“And so am I,” Worf said. “I have been a poor father to Alexander. I… did not think that I would get another chance. You died and I…”

“Oh, Worf,” Jadzia said, pulling him tightly to her. “You are an excellent father to Hatrel. And you do love Alexander, but a surprise child thrust upon you is not easy, no matter the child.”

“You took Hatrel far better than I took Alexander,” Worf said.

“I was prepared to be a parent,  _ and _ I’ve had eight lifetimes of experience,” Jadzia said. “Not that any of them were spectacular successes, but I’m always up for trying again. Hatrel seems to think we’re doing well.”

“This child is going to be a force to be reckoned with,” Worf said, putting his hand over Jadzia’s stomach.

“You have no idea.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on the ceilings of gullible Klingons @fireflyslove


End file.
